A Poison Peach Tree
by Fantasmagorie
Summary: A little reworking of a William Blake poem. I thought it was quite a neat idea. Please R&R.
1. A Poison Peach Tree

A Poison Peach Tree (an adaptation of "A Poison Tree")  
  
Just a little poem I thought up. It's a reworking of a William Blake poem about the Labyrinth. I do not own either but I thought it might be cool. Please tell me what you think.  
From "Hello it's me Fantastic" a.k.a Lily.  
  
I was angry with my friend:  
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  
I was angry with my foe:  
I told it not, my wrath did grow.  
  
It grew a maze within my mind  
Made intricate with thoughts unkind.  
Twists and turns within my head  
Of all the insults I had said.  
  
And while my foe did sleep in peace,  
The maze that never seemed to cease,  
Called out to me through all my woe  
For me to wish away my foe.  
  
And so the whispered words I said  
While my foe slept in his bed.  
And in the morn' glad was my song,  
When I found my foe was gone. 


	2. Labyrinth

Labyrinth - An adaptation of "London" by William Blake  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own Labyrinth or any of Blake's poems.  
  
A/N - OK, here's another little poem. I thought it might be quite appropriate, had Willliam Blake ever set foot in the Labyrinth or at least seen the movie.  
  
I wander thro' each charter'd passage,  
Near where the charter's Goblins eat,  
Marks of weakness, marks of age,  
A mark in every face I meet.  
  
In every cry of every Man,  
In every Infant's cry of fear,  
In every voice, in every ban,  
The mind-forg'd journeys I hear.  
  
How the fairy creatures cry,  
Every black'ning wall appals;  
And the hapless soldier's sigh  
Runs in blood down castle walls.  
  
But most thro' that other world I hear,  
How the youthful harlot's curse  
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,  
And blights it with death or worse. 


	3. The Goblin Sweeper

The Goblin Sweeper - An adaptation of the Chimney Sweeper by William Blake  
  
******  
  
Another little adaptation here. This ones a mixture from the Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experiance versions. Again I do not own either. Ta rah!  
  
When wished away I was very young  
And my father sold me while my tongue  
Could scarcely cry "weep! weep! weep! weep!"  
So your Labyrinth I sweep, and in dirt I sleep.  
  
Because I was happy in my former home,  
I played freely upon the winter's heath,  
But in this castle I am lost and alone  
Since they clothed me in the clothes of death.  
  
And because I am merry and dance and sing,  
They think they have done me no injury  
And are gone to praise their Lord and their King,  
Who makes up a heaven of our misery. 


	4. The Price of Wishes

The Price of Wishes  
  
A/N - Hi me again with more poetry rewrites. Bit obscure [understatement] this one but have you any idea how hard it is to find Laby references in a William Black peom!!! Please review anyway, before I switch to Poe!  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own Labyrinth or any of Blakes peotry because if I did I would be on my private yacht by now!

What is the price of wishes? Do men trade them for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price Of all a man hath, his house, his wife, his children. Wishes are sold in the desolate market where none come to buy, And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn. It is an easy thing to talk of prudence to the afflicted,  
To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer, To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs.It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements, To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughterhouse moan; To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast; To hear sounds of love in the thunder-storm that destroys our enemies' house; To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his children, While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring fruits and flowers.Then the groan and the dolour are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the mill, And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity: Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me. 


End file.
